His to Take (Wicked Lovers #9)(104)
Author: Shayla Black

Her body jerked with anguished bliss, and she came apart again with a scream.

Joaquin cried out—the sound somewhere between shock and sensual pain. He lost his rhythm. She lost her mind. Together, they soared into the euphoria of wrenching climax. A wet splash scalded her insides, and Bailey felt him coat her with his seed.

The thought of conceiving should have terrified her. Ballerinas who had babies usually kissed their careers good-bye. She’d worked her whole life to be the best. Already, she knew she stood a great chance of being chosen for more than a minor part at her audition next week—if she could, in fact, go.

Somehow, none of that seemed as important as having this man and the product of their love to share her life with.

Thoughts like that were so dangerous, but if he avoided being close to everyone, as Kata said, why was he here, risking the possibility that she might have his child? She had to hope that somewhere deep inside Joaquin’s heart, he wanted more out of life now than to roam it in lonely solitude. She had to hope that he could love her, too.

*   *   *

AN hour later, they sat in bed, eating pizza. Joaquin grinned as he reached for another piece and bit off a huge chunk of cheese. “Favorite memory?”

Bailey thought for a moment, then giggled. “When I was about eight, my adoptive mom found a rescue dog named Beau. He was a little dachshund-terrier mix. He was definitely my dad’s dog, always trying to be a man’s man, despite how little he was.

“One time, my dad moved the barbeque under the overhang near the kitchen because it started raining. The house had two sliding glass doors to the yard, and one was just off the breakfast nook. So my dad was standing there grilling next to the glass doors, right? My mom loved cactus plants. She had a whole bunch of them along that glass door. Beau raised his front paws up onto the glass to be closer to my dad, but then he couldn’t get down on his own. He ended up straddling the cactus. I was upstairs doing homework and my mom was in the laundry room. Next thing we know, we heard this huge yelp and came running. Beau was doing his best to stand on his tippy-toes over this big, round cactus plant, poor baby. It wouldn’t be funny except . . . my dad had to use a pair of tweezers and get all the stickers out of the dog’s underbelly and guy parts. He spent an hour consoling the dog, while trying not to howl with laughter.” She frowned. “I think that’s one of the few times I remember my adopted dad seeming like he was happy. It wasn’t the best day of my life, but something that always makes me smile. What about you?”

His grin widened to a teeth-flashing smile. “When I was fifteen and had my first real girlfriend, we had this big date planned. She was a year older than me, and I won’t lie: I was hoping to get lucky. I wanted to look good for this girl, so I washed everything I intended to wear that night. I also did a load of whites so I’d have clean underwear.”

Bailey laughed out loud. “Eager, were you?”

“Stupidly so.”

“Anyway, Kata had a new red shirt and wanted to play a prank on me, so she sneaked into the laundry room and slipped her shirt into that load, which I’d washed in hot water. Let me just also say that I’d decided that I should wash every pair of underwear I owned that day.”

Bailey’s jaw dropped. “So they all came out pink?”

“Oh, yeah. Like a weird, vivid tie-dyed pink. I wanted to kill her. Sometimes, I think it’s a miracle she made it to adulthood.”

“So did you get lucky that night?”

“No.” And he still sounded sulky about it.

With an indulgent laugh, peace settled into Bailey. She and Joaquin talked not like people escaping a dangerous murderer together while hunting priceless information, but simply like lovers enjoying each other’s company. Again, that sense of perfection and rightness seeped into her veins. Never in her life had she ever felt like she truly belonged anywhere or with anyone. But Bailey knew at a deep, visceral level that she belonged with this man. She wanted to tell him that—and admit she loved him. She didn’t do it. Had she ever said those three words to someone as anything more than a passing joke?

If so, she didn’t remember it.

“Worst memory?” she asked him, wondering if he’d open up.

He lowered his piece of pizza and turned his thoughts inward. “The death of my father was probably it for the longest time. I remember seeing him that morning before he left for work. He ruffled my head and told me that my sugary breakfast cereal would rot my teeth. He was drinking coffee, which I told him would rot his brain. It was one of our rituals. Hearing the news of his death that evening was hard, but surreal, you know? It really hit me the next morning when I poured my cereal that he’d never again tell me not to eat it. I shoved it all in the trash and went to my room and punched my pillow until my knuckles were bruised. But I never ate that cereal again.”